Gym Hallway II

What the hell do you mean,What’s happening?? she snaps.
I just got here.

I look over Alice’s shoulder.
I look at the floor: a brown-
skinned kid is covering
his face. There’s blood
between his fingers
and streaks on my shoe.

I…

Oh, right.
She sucks in a breath. Sorry.
She gestures at the guy
on the floor.Wrong corner, wrong day.

I sneak behind a door-window.

The inside of the kid’s purple shirt
is brown with footprints.
The smaller kid, Jio’s friend,
stomps his kidneys
twice. The kid kicks
everywhere, starts to right
his chest when
Mr. Corcoran comes
around the corner

and instantly claps Jio’s friend
on the ear with an oversize Teacher’s Edition.

Keep your nigger-war
out of my God-damned hallway!
He points at the opposite wall.
Jio and friend line up
slowly. I’ve never seen him look
so big.

Names?

The two smaller guy looks at Jio.

Jiovanni Jones. Jio pauses, then nods
to his right. Marcus Williams.
He stares straight ahead,
like if Mr. Corcoran catches his eye
it’s only coincidence.

You are aware fighting
is not tolerated in the Wellesley
Public School system, Mr. Williams?

Survey

Brand New

Notes

I wanted to have most of Estuary II written by the start of 2015. Instead I've been on a three seven-month break, taking lots of inspiration from crappy TV and my newfound passion for photography. Part I is now starting to get clearer, which will make Part II a lot easier to write.

Thanks so much for reading.

xo,
Adam

Who are you?

I'm a poet, editor, tinkerer and designer. I love making books, pickles, and something just south of sense.

If you’re here at all, it means we’ve probably met, or you know someone who knows me. Thank you for being here. I put my heart, spirit, blood, and knuckle grease into this story for 12 years. It means so much to me that you’re here, reading it.

So it’s with great sadness I’m putting my strange, endless story on hold. My heart is with my photography these days, and has been for several years. I’ll keep the site up until the domain expires, and then it will return to the form of so many other unfinished stories: a meticulously organized collection of chapters on a personal computer.

Thank you for 12 wonderful and transformative, demanding and soul-wracking years.